


The Way Back (Musicians AU)

by obsessivewriter



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5445305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivewriter/pseuds/obsessivewriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons, a cellist, and Leo Fitz, a pianist, are prodigious musical savants and best friends for over a decade. </p><p>They combine their classical work with their urban folk pet projects. </p><p>For years they have composed music and shared every part of their lives but lately, they have started flirting with the possibility of something more. </p><p>That something has started to bloom between them along with the notes of the the pieces they have been working on at a little recording studio. </p><p>Until a late night, when they leave the studio hand in hand about to take a step they can’t take back when a drunk driver swerves and goes directly towards them. </p><p>Fitz manages to push Jemma out of the way, but he is not so lucky…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once more I'm taking someone else's characters because I'm a an obsessive and compulsive person who cannot survive a three-month hiatus. 
> 
> Nothing belongs to me. 
> 
> This is based on the photoset I put together below and that I posted on Tumblr. And because I couldn't leave it alone, I wrote a first chapter. I'll do my best and try to post at least once per week, but I can't promise. 
> 
> I plan to put together a photoset as inspiration for each chapter. You can find my photosets here: http://obsessivewriter.tumblr.com/
> 
> I appreciate you taking the time to read this and while it is not necessary to write a comment or leave kudos, they do tend to encourage me to write more.

 

 

I’m in shock.

 

That is what this it. It has to be. That is why I’m looking at my legs, black and blue, covered still in glass shards and dried blood, my blood, yours…

 

No I can’t, can’t go there.

 

Looking at my legs against the startk white of the scratchy sheets of this cot and the only thing I seem to care about is what a bad job I did last time I shaved. That is unacceptable. I should have remembered to shave again last night but it is not like I knew what was going to happen, no, not that, not the thing with the car. I mean before, of course I had thought about it, and I had been worrying about being prepared, but every time I thought “this is it" it didn’t happen, and then we got so much into the piece, and now it’s four nights later and I didn’t shave my legs, and they’re prickly and that is absolutely unacceptable. What if you had touched them, would you have been put off by the prickliness?

 

No, I can’t go there.

 

I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be in your flat, tangled in your sheets, in your arms… It’s not fair, I was supposed to be happy, we were supposed to be happy, we earned it damn it!

 

I look at my legs again. It wouldn’t have mattered to you, would it? But it would have bothered me. Maybe I would have found the way to sneak into your loo and used your razor. I mean it’s not like your have been shaving much; was that an aesthetic choice, the stubble? Or did you get caught with everything like me?

 

Dear Lord, by now my skin was supposed to have beard burns instead of those gashes from the pavement.

 

My agent is going to kill me. She’s always going on and on about the importance of keeping my legs in good shape since the cello calls attention to them. You love to joke about how you chose the piano because of your chicken legs, but that is not it. It was your hands. You have the prettiest hands… Wait, that is wrong, good looking? Hansome? Manly, definitely manly. Sorry Fitz, I didn’t mean to make them sound like they’re not masculine enough.

 

If I hadn’t suggested that we should go to yours this wouldn’t have happened, would it?

 

It is my fault.

 

I should have let you keep kissing me in the recording booth. Why do I have to be such a prude? There was no one left in the studio, I could have easily shagged you right there and they wouldn’t have taken you from me. We would have fumbled trying to find protection right? You are not the type to have a condom in your wallet, are you? I would have suggested breaking into Hunter’s locker, he must have loads of them there.

 

When they brought us to A&E they ripped your button-up. It was that nice blue one I got you last Christmas.

 

I should be wearing it now. Isn’t that a right of passage for every couple? We are a couple, aren’t we? Even if we didn’t get to yours?

 

Fitz, you would have done that bit right? Feigning annoyance at me wearing your shirt and nothing more, and I would have been bold enough to say “Well, you can have it back if you want it” as I undid each button, taking my sweet time.

 

Why is your blue shirt tattered and bloody on the floor instead?

 

It isn’t fair.

 

It isn’t fair.

 

It isn’t fair.

 

My hand was shaking when they had me sign the consent forms and they asked things about DNRs and what would your wishes be. The counselor they sent when they took you held my hand and said “Miss, we’ll do out best to help your boyfriend, but you have to understand that his condition is dire.” I wanted to scream, tell them that I’m your best friend, and yes, maybe your girlfriend of what? 45 minutes? They had to understand that we are much more to each other. I wanted to yell at them, tell them that it was my heart they were taking, but I only said: “be careful with his hands, he’s a concert pianist, he’s a genius, he needs his hands, and his beautiful mind.” I think maybe it wasn’t as clear and collected as I recall it, because they had to call for a shot stat.

 

I think it is taking effect now, my thoughts are slowing down. I don’t want to sleep without you here. What if I don’t get up on time? Tomorrow we have an early rehearsal with the orchestra, please miss, let me go home. Fitz will be crossed with me if I don’t give him a wake up call…

 

Where is Fitz?

 

Fitz?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz's hard journey back to health starts and Jemma advocates for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little explanation first, just so you don’t think that I’m jumping back and forth with different times and narrators.
> 
> This chapter is still from Jemma’s point of view and in first person. From next chapter on the story will be narrated in a more traditional way in third person and from an omniscient narrator.
> 
> Now, back to the fic…

 

 

**Jemma**

**7 days after the accident**

 

“Hospital tea is absolutely wretched. You were on to something just taking the IV Fitz, I swear…”

I lean in over your bed to take your hand in mine and I look at your closed eyes. Are you dreaming Fitz? Your eyes move like a metronome, perfect, reliable. Did I really use to accuse you of your timing being off?

 

**1 hour and 53 minutes before the accident**

 

_“Why did you stop?” He yelled looking at her with her bow down and her eyebrow up._

_“You are doing it again.”_

_This was an old battle and they were both veterans in it. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her._

_“Playing? Yes, I am, and so are you.”_

_“No! You know what I’m talking about.”_

_He stood up with such force that he knocked his bench down, Jemma didn’t even flinch and instead rolled her eyes at the overdone dramatic display._

_“Jem, love,” he said turning sideways to face her, “I know you better than yourself and I haven’t got the foggiest idea of what you are bloody talking about!”_

_She knew he knew. He didn’t agree with her, that was for sure, but he knew. She sighed accepting that she was going to have to spell it out for him._

_Once more._

_“You are coming in late.”_

_“Oh, that is rich, **Simmons**.”_

_“You know you are, **Leo**.”_

  

I have to shake my head to dispel the memory. Was it really just a week ago? It was late. Hunter got tired and tossed us his keys and told us to play nice and close up when we were done.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

Can you hear my voice from afar, wherever you are? Just follow my voice Fitz, grab the silver thread and pull yourself towards me.

Come back to me. 

 “…but do you know where there is undeniably _superb_ tea darling? At mine. And so I’m going to need you to open those gorgeous baby blues of yours and come meet me here in the land of the living,” so much for keeping the conversation light. “…because I’m absolutely falling apart without you, yeah? Do we have a deal? Please?”

But I won’t give up, I can’t.

  

* * *

 

**9 days after the accident**

 

It takes two more days before you are conscious. The doctors had told me that you were coming around because of the daily examinations, but seeing you open your eyes was still the best surprise in the world.

They warned me that it would take a bit for you to be able to speak normally after the extubation, and that we still had to see what the damage. I prepared myself but I am still taken aback when you finally manage to speak.

“J…J…em…” you call.

“I’m here. I’m here.”

“Whe… Whe…”

“We’re at St. Andrew’s,” I say running my fingers through your shorn curls.

“Wha… Wha… Je… Je…m!”

“it’s okay, it’s okay,” I try to reassure you. “Something… Something happened on our way back from the studio, but it is going to be okay. I just need you to be patient. We can do this, can’t we? We are Fitzsimmons. We are so very good at being patient, aren’t we? And we are so close to getting our reward. Just bear with me Fitz.”

I can see the panic in your eyes. I can’t cry right now. I have to muster my best smile and let you know that I’m here, that you are not alone.

“Je…m!”

 “Not going anywhere.”

“Po…Pro…is… mse… mise,” your words are enough to break my heart.

“I promise.”

 

* * *

  

**Two weeks after the accident**

 

“Phil is here Fitz, I’m just going to pop out and get him so he can come and see you okay?”

“…kay.”

Thank god for Phil being our principal conductor. He has been so kind giving me all this time to care for you Fitz. We are going to get you back on top form in no time. I promise.

“How are you doing sweetheart?” he asked after kissing me on the cheek.

“Fitz is making progress, I swear. If we could have just a little bit more time, I know that he’ll be ready and we’ll be able to go back to work, Phil.”

He has that face on Fitz, the one he has when one of us is a bit sluggish because of a cold, or because of having a bit too much to drink the night before.

“Jemma sweetheart. You can take some time off, but you need to be realistic.”

And so the unconditional support starts to dwindle.

“What do you mean?” I ask as he pulls me towards a small waiting lounge and and directs me to take a seat.

“He can’t use his left hand-”

I have to interrupt him, let him know what our plan is.

“He just started therapy and-"

“And his memory and speech were severely affected,” he says coldly.

I don’t like where this is going. 

“Phil-”

“And he lost part of his hearing in one ear.”

“The doctor said that it is temporary.”

“The doctor said it _could_ be temporary”

“So what? Are you going to chuck him, is that what you are saying?”

“I need you to know something Jemma. If it was my decision, you will always have a seat in my orchestra, but you know that I don’t have complete control-”

“You are principal conductor!” I yell no longer caring if I’m making a scene.

“In a very important symphony orchestra that depends on the decisions of the Board of Directors. And trust me on this Jemma, the board wants nothing more than for him to get better, but it will take time and while we hope he’ll be able to play again and keep composing, his performing career on the other hand…”

I suddenly realise that we’ve been commodities all this time: a piece of art, a weapon, a trained monkey. How long ago could we get everything we wanted sheltered by the magical blanket of potential? We were their little darlings and now our fifteen minutes seem to be up.

“He’ll die.”

“He’s alive. Against all odds. Having you perform CPR until the paramedics arrived saved him.”

“At what cost?” I say realising what I did to you. 

“Now, Jemma, the board is happy to pay for an assisted living facility, after Fitz is released from the NHS.”

“Assisted living facility? Do you mean with extensive rehab?”

“No Jemma. Listen, we’ve reached the end of the line. Any other type of care, will have to be private and… I’m so sorry. I swear I tried to get them to agree to pay for it, but they said the symphony can’t simply survive if they foot the bill for the type of care that Fitz needs to be able to perform again, and that is still a big if.”

“But he needs it!”

“Jemma, I wish there were something else that I could do, but I can’t as principal conductor. Now, like a friend, everyone wants to chip in. We’ve started a fund to help Fitz get the care he needs to regain as much control of his hand and deal with the cognitive issues, but it will have to be with private care, and I am sure it’s going to be very costly.”

“It will. They have recommended a rehabilitation centre for brain injury in Geneva.”

“Okay, let’s see what we need to do to get our boy there, okay?”

 

* * *

 

**_3 weeks after the accident_ **

 

What was needed was money.

A lot of it.

We already knew about this didn’t we?

A medical wrong turn can ruin you.

You left no stone unturned when your mum got sick.

And once there was nothing else to do, then you gave her the best year of her life.

Who would have told us that Anna’s experience was only a drill for this?

 

“All,” I say to Bobbi in a voice that leaves no doubt that I mean business.

“Jemma, please,” she pleads with me.

“This is not up for discussion Bobbi, there are a few exceptions, of course.”

“Please tell me you’ll be sensible.”

 “So, we’ll leave out Fitz’s piano and his guitars, my cello and heirloom jewellery of course, and his flat.”

“Was your cello damaged in the accident.”

“No.”

“That’s lucky. I mean it is no Stradivarius, but yours is one expensive piece of art.”

“I know. I was lucky when I got it from a very generous unknown patron.”

 

Should I tell her Fitz? Tell her that I’d call a press conference and every single symphony trustee and donor and take a sledge hammer to a Strad? Hell, I’d round up every single instrument I can find, if it meant it would make you whole again.

This is how reckless I feel.

I think about the last time I played my cello, that night. After we managed to let go each other long enough to gather our stuff. I had just put it away in its case and got the strap over my shoulder.

  

**28 minutes before the accident**

_“Give it here.” He said extending his arm._

_“What?"_

_“The cello?”_

_“Why?” She asked defensively._

_“Because it is heavy!”_

_"And do I look like I can’t carry my own cello?"_

_“Of course not! I'm well aware that you can! You know, flower power and all that. But you are missing the point.” Fitz replied with annoyance placing his hands on his hips._

_“What kind of musician would I be if I couldn’t carry my own instrument?” Jemma asks_

_“Well, I can’t carry my piano, can I?”_

_“I’m missing your point then, why don’t you want me to carry my own cello?"_

_“Because!” came out as a frustrated yell._

_She didn’t say anything, but stared at him making clear that she was not satisfied with his justification._

_“Because I don’t want to look like a **bad boyfriend**!”_

_“What do you want to look like then?” She asked with delight closing the gap between them and crossing her hands behind his neck._

_“ **Your** boyfriend.”_

 

_With that she let the case fall to the ground with a thud. He broke the kiss and tried to reach out to the instrument._

_“Leave it. I won’t be needing my cello tonight.”_

 

I have to stop doing this. Thinking of that night and disappearing from this world.

The world that came after.

“What about your place?” Bobbi asks patiently when she can tell I’m back from my reverie.

“Sell it. It’s all paid for.”

“Where will you live?”

“At Fitz’s. It still has a mortgage. By the way, please make sure the it gets transferred to me.”

“Okay, and how about the cottage?”

“No! Not Anna’s place.”

“Jemma, it’s going to cost you a fortune! When Fitz did all those improvements he re-mortgaged it; it doesn’t make sense for you to pay for both places. Selling the cottage can take care of almost everything.”

“I’m not going to take away the one thing he’s still got from his late mother, Bobbi. He’s lost so much. I won’t take anything else from him. I’ve done enough already.”

“Okay, that will take care of the outstanding bills so far, let’s talk about rehab.”

“I said everything Bobbi,” I say making my point clear. She knows what I’m taking about, I can see the fear in her eyes.

 “Jemma, no you can’t. Your music.”

“I don’t care!”

I’m tired Fitz. I can’t keep caring for things that simply have lost their meaning.

“Coca-Cola and McDonalds can make jingles of every single piece I’ve ever composed for all I care. Will it be enough?”

“Well, with Fitz’ friends fund and the commercial rights to your music, you may have enough for a couple of months. Now, let’s look at the numbers from the place you want, in Geneva right?”

“It’s not enough. Two months is not going to be enough Bobbi.” I say as my tears fall.

“Have you considered somewhere else, cheaper maybe? We can also do more fundraising."

“No. We need to get the best. And according to the doctors, the sooner the better. If we get a shot at getting his ability back, as much as we can. It has to be there. And it has to be done as soon as possible.  I’ve done my research.”

“Okay then.”

 “I have to find a way to get more resources Bobbi.”

“I may have something. I did get an offer from America that you may want to consider. In the past I wouldn’t have dared show it to you or Fitz, but desperate measures and all that.”

“Thank you Bobbi. I’ll look through it.”

 

* * *

 

**6 weeks after the accident and a week after arriving at The Rehabilitation Centre in Geneva**

 

Today was not a good day Fitz.

But I don’t need to tell you that, do I?

I love you more than life itself but you were horrid to the nurses and to your physical therapists. And now I’m waiting for your  doctor here, like a bad girl waiting for the principal. Who would have thought I’d end up being the one in trouble?

“Miss Simmons,” he calls me and he points towards a seat in his office.

I hate the way he calls me Miss, I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, but I can feel his condescension, never mind the fact that I have a degree, make that two, as advanced as his.

“Doctor Mackenzie.”

“There was an… incident today in rehab.”

You owe me big Leopold Fitz.

“I know, it wasn’t a good day,” I say trying to attenuate the circumstances. “You see Fitz tends to be a bit of a grump from time to time, and he just had the proverbial rug pulled from under his feet, you can’t really hold it against him, can you?”

I say with my very best Jemma smile.

“We are used to our patients having setbacks. It’s only normal,” he explains fidgeting with all those knickknacks doctors keep around in their offices. “The thing Miss Simmons is that what happened today with your boyfriend wasn’t a one off.”

Time for plan B: guilt.

“Are you flunking him from rehab? Is this what this is? So you fail at helping your patients get better and you kick them to the curb?”

“No. Fitz is at the right place to make improvements. The problem, as I see it is…”

“Money?"

“You.”

We say at the same time.

 “Me?”

“To put it bluntly, he is not making any progress when you are around.”

“I’m always around.”

“And there lies the problem.”

“I’ve done everything…”

“And sometimes that’s just it.”

I see only red.

I’ve been bottling up too much in all this time, and it is my time to explode. I stand up from the seat and I start pacing his office spewing my tirade:

“You look at me like I have no idea of what you are talking about! A silly girl that is too pushy and who knows nothing right? May I remind you that between Fitz and me we have advance degrees in Sonic Arts Engineering, Musical Theory and Musical Composition? People look at us and see child prodigy and you all think it was easy, that we just knew it all. We wake up one day and we see music and colours, yeah? Yes, we are talented and we were lucky, but that was just just a fraction of it, you don’t get to where we got just on the prodigy card. We put in years at the conservatory, learning different instruments, learning about history and theory and craftsmanship. Fitz builds guitars, did you know that? And you have to practice for hours.

“So, if I believe in something is in working hard to get it! And by god, everything that Fitz and I got was because of incredibly hard work, heaps of tea and each other,” I say almost out of breath. 

“You may not believe it,” he says. “but Fitz is not our first patient who is a musician.”

“So you understand how important it is to do everything and then some to get him back.”

“Ms. Simmons, I have no doubt that you have done your very best for him and then some. But brain injury is not something that you can just soldier your way through. I need to be blunt here: Fitz will never be who we used to be.”

I feel like I’m drowning.

“We tend to lash at those who we love the most, and he is doing that to you. Jemma, can I call you Jemma.” 

“Okay.”

“You were dealt a bad hand.”

“That is an understatement”

“Fair enough. You both got screwed. Royally. And I know that you have done everything in your power to get him back to the person he was. And that is just the thing. My line of work, is not about getting people back to who they used to be. It’s healing people, as much as we can and giving them the tools to survive and to thrive. When Leo looks at you, he sees the person he was, someone who is lost to him forever.”

“So, what you are telling me is that I’m no longer welcome here.”

“I’m just telling you to give him space. I’ve heard that your orchestra is back in session.” 

“I took a leave of absence”

“Maybe it’s time it comes to an end.”

I need to wake up Leo. I need to go back to before all of this happened.

 

_“You are coming in late.”_

_“Oh, that is rich, **Simmons**.”_

_“You know you are, **Leo**.”_

_“Are you seriously telling me that my timing is off.”_

_“Took you this long to figure it out?” She says taunting him._

_“Why don’t you come here and show me how to keep my rhythm, huh?” He dares._

_“You are disgusting.”_

_“And you love… it”_

_“Okay, don’t cry when I show you.” She said setting the cello on the side and walking next to him to duel at the piano._

_“’Flight of the bumblebee’?” He asked cockily._

_“It’s your funeral.”_

_They took turns playing, challenging each other. Soon they took on current pop songs, making their own arrangements. Leo saw suddenly the spark in her eyes, it overwhelmed him so that he stopped playing. Jemma interpreted it as a concession of the win and raised her arms in victory._

_Leo took her face in his hands and kissed her instead. She got lost in the kiss, lowering her hands to hold on to his shirt and he let his left hand fall to the small of her back in order to pull her closer to him._

_Once the kiss ends they remain close, their foreheads touching._

_“What are you doing?” She asks out of breath._

_“Burning my bridges.” He said looking into her eyes._

_"Okay," I finally agree._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple of things: 
> 
> a. I couldn't fit Daisy here, so there will be no Daisy. 
> 
> b. I'm excited about the next chapter. This second chapter was a lot of set up for the story, and I'm really excited with what I have so far in chapter 3 (Hunter and Bobbi are there and it will actually be from Fitz's perspective). So bear with me a bit more. 
> 
> Thank you once more for your time, kudos and comments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz's aftermath after coming back from Switzerland and finding himself on his own. It's three months after being back from rehabilitation. He has Hunter and Bobbi and he has found the way to thrive despite the absence of the person that he cared about the most. Somehow, he has put himself back together, until one evening unexpected news from Jemma catch him unprepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holidays and life delayed this chapter, but I want to continue this story posting at least once every two weeks (but I'll do my best to post weekly). Let me know if you are enjoying it since I'm a bit rusty on writing fanfiction.

 

 

Lance Hunter was mad.

Well-intentioned; but mad nonetheless.

The thought boiled in Fitz’s mind like the frothy beer head of a freshly served pint. It gave Fitz a genuine smile, or perhaps it was the effect of the beer Bobbi placed in his hand as he sat at her kitchen table. That in itself had to be celebrated, not Hunter’s insanity, but the fact that this day felt like a regular day, like an honest-to-God evening of laughs spent with mates, without the shadow of everything that happened before.

“So, here is to your three-month anniversary of your rehab graduation.” Lance said placing a round object in front him.

“What is this?” Leo asked picking it up and inspecting it.

“A 90-day chip,” was the proud reply.

“ _Your_ 90-day chip?”

“Don’t you frown at it you ungrateful bastard!” said Hunter showing his offense, “I’m quite proud of it.”

“You know you are _drinking_ , right?”

“I didn’t get it for quitting drinking, you ninny!” He yelled “It was for the drugs!” he explained as if it made perfect sense.

Fitz had to shake his head at Hunter’s logic.

“You are a piece of work,” he said as Bobbi came to place a bowl of nuts in front of them.

“Tell me about it _hon_ ,” she shared with a wide smile directed at Fitz.

“Oi! Some friend you are ganging up on me with my woman,” he accused taking turns pointing his index finger at his girlfriend and friend.

“ _Your_ woman Lance?” Bobbi asked arching her perfectly-styled eyebrow.

“A night with you both is never dull,” Fitz added chugging the rest of his beer.

“Hmm… lady friend? Paramour? Beloved?”

Bobbi Morse was a virtuoso in the use of silence, Fitz had no doubt about it. It was quite the sight to see his friend cower at the deadly stare of his blond American agent and friend.

“Love of my life?” he added as a Hail Mary.

“That’s more like it,” she finally said giving her boyfriend a smile and stealing his recently opened beer.

“So how are you doing Fitz?” She asked turning her attention to her friend and client.

“Not bad,” Leo replied with a barely-there smile.

“I think you’ve graduated from ‘not bad’ a while ago,” she remarked.

“True. I mean, got myself a 90-day chip and all.”

“Fitz…” She pressed.

“Doing alright, I guess,” Fitz confessed unable to keep the mask that he had gotten used to wearing. “Light years away of how I was when I got back. You know better than anyone else, there is no philharmonic orchestra work in my future, but I can’t complain. I’m playing and writing. On top of that there is all that consultant work working with other musicians, and your man here has been great at getting me gigs as session musician. That’s where being a prodigy and having had learnt to play a wide selection of instruments finally pays off. Not that it means that you will be making much money off of me in the future.”

“Fitz…”

“Hey, I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m genuinely content.”

“You are more than a client and you know it. You are our dear dear friend. And listen to me you silly Scot, I, we would like you to be happy, not just content.”

“Well, happy may be a tall order, but I appreciate the sentiment. Thank you Bobbi.”

“So how about some music to lift or spirits, huh?” Bobbi asked looking away to hide her glassy eyes with the excuse of turning on the radio on her kitchen counter.

“Ah! That is why I keep you around Bobs,” Lance remarked lightening the mood, as the notes of some easy-listening song filled the room, “that… and all the sex, of course.”

Fitz cringed.

“Stop talking. Please,” he implored looking at Bobbi stiffen and walk back to them.

She placed one hand on the table and the other one on Hunter’s shoulder and looking directly into his eyes she spoke with an even tone that Fitz was sure could emasculate any man.

“If _anyone_ is keeping anyone around is _me_ Lance,” she said taking a moment to let the message sink in Hunter’s brain with a noticeable bob of his Adam’s apple. Fitz was sure that he could see the beginning of a smirk on her.

“Like the one can of mushroom soup that you really don’t want to eat but what if some day you are in the mood for something funky? And look! There are still a couple of years left before the expiration date.” She said leaning in and kissing him.

During her soup metaphor Bobbi found her way into sitting on her boyfriend’s lap. Before meeting them together as a couple Fitz would have sworn there was no such thing as being terrified and aroused at the same time, but having been witness to their romance first-hand had proved him wrong.

You had to be a sick individual to be addicted to that.

And then there was Lance Hunter.

Despite the scene he had just witnessed there was something getting caught in his throat. Leo Fitz would be an idiot not to identify the longing that his friends’ dynamic was causing in him. It wasn’t their weird back and forth, it was the familiarity, the wordless conversation lovers could have with one another. Fitz was doing his best at blocking her name from his mind, trying hard at concentrating only in the here and now.

“You guys are disgusting,” he said getting up to fish another round of beers from the fridge.

“And yet, you always find your way here,” he heard Bobbi add from where she was sitting. His response was flipping her off from behind the open refrigerator door.

As he was closing it with his foot and untwisting the caps of the beers that he was handing to Lance and Bobbi he started to pay attention to the new song coming from the radio.

The hair on the back of Fitz’s head raised at the notes of a very intimate melody. One he knew like he knew how to breath. All his hard work at blocking her from his consciousness went down the drain with the sound of a cello.

Both Bobbi and Hunter paid attention at the same time, him with genuine perplexity and Bobbi with evident dread.

“No, no, no, turn it off!” She said struggling to get up from Lance’s lap and running to the radio. Fitz was quick to block her and raising a hand he signalled for her to stop.

A man’s voice sang romantic lyrics in a Sinatra style.

Hunter got up and joined Bobbi and Fitz standing around her small kitchen. “Who is this wanker? Is that Bublé?”

“No. Shut up Hunter, let me hear,” added Leo with a frown and a hand covering his mouth, concentrated on the music.

“Fitz, I need to explain something,” said a distressed Bobbi.

“I like the cello; him, not so much,” Lance added.

“It’s Jemma.”

There it was. Her name in his lips again, despite all his effort. He looked at the 90-day chip on the table and he felt like laughing at the sudden thought of going back to zero, of concentring on not saying her name one day at a time.

During this thought the song came to an end. If someone had asked him to recount the lyrics of the song he wouldn’t have been able to, he was on a trance, enthralled by her playing and the melody he had recognized.

Once it was over the baritone voice of the radio presenter broke the bubble.

_‘You have listened to “’Til we meet again” by American crooner Will Daniels. This song is the first single of his new album in collaboration with Sheffield’s own child prodigy Jemma Simmons, of Fitz & Simmons fame.’_

“You knew about this,” he accused Bobbi.

“Fitz, of course I knew, I’m her agent.”

“Hang on, is this why Jemma left for America?” Hunter contributed belatedly understanding the situation.

“It was an opportunity.” Bobbi offered trying to assuage her guilt.

“I’ve never heard of this Will Daniels bloke, but, that is why God invented Google,” said Hunter pulling his phone from his back pocket, “let’s see, so big deal in America, suave singer, good-looking, I guess, if you’re into _hogfaces_.”

“And people stealing what doesn’t belong to them.”

“Okay, Fitz, I love you to bits and I understand the heartache, but you can’t refer to Jemma as something that belongs to you.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jemma,” he said slowly. “The song. It’s mine, or I guess I should say it was ours.”

The weight of the realization sobered Bobbi. She hadn’t planned for things to happen this way. She had been counting with Hunter getting wasted before Fitz and her, and she had had a plan to ease Leo on Jemma’s work in America. She didn’t expect the BBC to play the new single that day.

And of course, she didn’t know about the origin of the song, that was something Jemma had kept from her.

“I didn’t know, honestly Fitz.”

“I believe you Bobbi, but you should have told me,” he said grabbing his beer and walking out to the small balcony off of his friends’ kitchen. “And, yes, Jemma wasn’t mine,” he said looking back briefly, “but we used to belong together.”

 

* * *

 

Fitz nursed the rest of his beer in the cold London evening. He needed another one but he just couldn’t muster the will to walk to the kitchen to fetch a fresh one.

Now, despite his miserable luck, someone took a pity on him by sending Hunter out with two beers in his hands. He handed Fitz one and sat next to him lighting the cigarette on his lips. After a long sip Fitz saw his friend getting ready to coax him into talking about what just happened, but he cut him off.

“Save it. You don’t understand what this feels like.”

“Like your ex took your kid away and moved across the Atlantic to shack up with some _hogfaced_ bloke, and now the fruit of your loins calls him Daddy? Not to mention that he is raising it to like American football?”

While weird Hunter’s rant stunned Fitz and distracted him from his rage.

“That metaphor was quite accurate,” he had to admit.

“So, you want to talk about what just happened?”

“Not really, but you are going to get me to do it, right?”

“The powers that be had to put me in your path for some reason, yeah?”

“What is there to say? Jemma left me brain-damaged in Geneva, supposedly to tie some ends together. While I was trying to relearn how to wipe my own arse she sold her flat and moved her stuff to mine. Without asking me about it. On one of her last calls she told me about it and I thought that it was a good sign, I mean, I had joked about her living at mine as it was.”

The memory burnt him.

_“You might as well leave yours and move in already.”_

Memory Jemma smiled with that smile that only managed to hurt him lately.

_“Sell the flat I own, to move in with you in the rented flat above a pub where you live? That sounds like a sound financial decision.”_

_“Well, you may own yours but it is in a posh building with tight-arsed neighbours who complain when a talented musical prodigy tries to play her cello, and thus ends up in said rented pub flat of her magnanimous best friend.”_

_“You are quite convincing when you want to be, you know?”_

_“I am a genius as well; didn’t you know?”_

_“I knew I kept you around for some reason.”_

Hunter’s voice broke his reverie.

“I didn’t know you were that serious.”

“We weren’t, really. We had been flirting with the possibility, but we had been best friends for years. So many things were so natural for us, crashing on each other’s sofas. We sort of started a relationship while we were working on that blasted record. Funny, isn’t it? We had years side by side and the one night we get together I get run over.”

“That’s rough mate.”

“Well, I thought that was the end of it, but not only did she not return to Switzerland, her phone was disconnected and when I finally came back I found the rest of her stuff in my spare bedroom and a _‘I’m sorry Fitz, Love Jemma’_ card along with a forwarding address for her mail to some P.O. box in America.”

“And Bobbi told you that she took a job in there.”

“Yes. All this time, I had to accept that she couldn’t deal with damaged me. I thought it was the hardest thing I had to do in my life, but I was wrong. She took a song that we made together without my consent. And not any song, the song we created that night. I just… I can’t.”

“Let me look something up… Okay, ‘Til we meet again’, music? Jemma Simmons. Ouch, sorry mate your name is not in the birth certificate.”

“I know my own music; I was there when we made it.”

“So, she pulled the age old ‘I used a donor sperm’ bit yeah?”

“What?!”

“Sorry, got too invested with the metaphor.”

“She had to register it as only hers. Now it all makes sense. Why she left like that and couldn’t even tell me that she was done with me in person. She knew I would have never given my rights to that… _monstrosity_.”

“It was over produced. Jemma was spot on as always, but everything else is just, too saccharine. I hate that sort of thing.”

“I do as well. And so did Jemma, or at least I thought she did. I guess I didn’t know her as well as I thought.”

At that Lance Hunter could only muster a sad empathetic frown.

Silence was disturbed by Bobbi opening the door to the balcony.

“Fitz, can we talk?”

Leo gave a curt nod as Bobbi addressed Hunter. “Lance, would you mind?”

“Not at all love,” he said getting up and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “Be gentle with him.”

Bobbi sat down and after a few false starts she found the words to explain herself to Fitz.

“I was going to tell you, about Jemma’s work, tonight. I really didn’t know that the single was yours as well, I should have. You wrote together all the time. But you have to understand that she had a reason to do what she did.”

Leo felt his rage return at the implication that there might have been a valid reason behind Jemma’s actions.

“Really Bobbi?! There was a good reason to stab me in the back?” he asked turning towards his friend.

“Fitz, I can’t break her trust, but you have to believe me, while Jemma wronged you, there was a reason for her leaving. And you need to hear it from her,” she said trying to convince herself that it was okay to disclose Jemma’s confidence. If it had been something confided in her just as a friend, she could justify it for being in both their best interest, but having been part of her role as her agent, she couldn’t betray her trust. Even if she knew it would hurt both of them.

“Well, I’m out of luck then, with her being all the way there in America.”

And there was the other thing she had to confess.

“Actually, that was another thing I wanted to tell you tonight,” Bobbi said avoiding Fitz’s stare.

“More Bobbi? What else could possibly be this hard to tell me?”

“Jemma is coming home to London.”

The hand that hadn’t shaken in weeks couldn’t hold on to the beer bottle any more and so Fitz had to place it on the floor.

Another counter would have to be rewound back to zero.

“When?”

“Next week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Yea or nay?
> 
> Thank you for reaidng.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


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